Us Here
by Vakarious
Summary: Shepard and Garrus share a quiet moment on the night before the jump through the Omega 4 relay. When will the awkwardness end...?


****Author's Note**:** Written in reply to a prompt on the Mass Effect kink meme. I am considering writing a sequel**, **which is why I am posting this here. Thank you, Mass Effect kink meme moderator, prompters and writers; you are the reason I have finally dared to take up the pen myself.**  
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**Us. Here.**

This was the Garrus she remembered, before her bold invitation had thrown him onto a curve of self conscious awkwardness. _'The Garrus I fell in love with'_ she silently admitted to herself, thanking all heavens that he had resurfaced, relaxed, confident and witty, before leading her to believe that inviting him up had been a mistake. Before letting her go into battle wondering if she had botched up the most important friendship in her life, for good. But a little reassurance, half a bottle of wine, and a lot of talk about guns, mercenaries and crew mates later, and here he was, nestled comfortably on her bed, one hand behind his head, the other absentmindedly stroking her back.

Her fingers were tracing the outlines of paint on the unmarred side of his face.  
>"What does this mean?" she asked.<br>"Us? Here?"  
>"No, this," she said, tapping a finger on the blue part of his nose. "These marks."<br>"Rage."  
>"Rage? No way. That can't be a Turian virtue."<br>He chuckled. "Words from the old language don't translate well, but it's not so far from the truth. The design is said to be an abstraction of the characters that represent 'indignation', but it's more subtle than that. It means... anger at all that's wrong in the world, and a fierce determination to set it right. Selfless, with honor, blind to distractions."  
>"All of that, huh?"<br>"It's something we don't usually talk about."  
>"Is it paint or a tattoo?"<br>"Both. When you come of age the tattoo is set. I was lucky, my family was rich enough to have it set by one of the best. And I guess I was lucky to go alone. If my father had come with me, I don't know if I would have had the guts..."

"For what?" she softly encouraged him when he fell silent.  
>"The basic signs are set, of course, but certain variations are permitted. In color, in shape. Some you decide on because they look better on you, and some you decide on because they carry meaning..."<p>

He sat up and took her hand in his. "Here..." he guided her. "The extra stripe on my mandible? It's different from the common design. I had never even seen it before but... I fell in love with it right away. You can dismiss it as something aesthetic, but barely. It hints at another phrasing, the indignation of 'one'. One turian, you see? It hints at the notion of... my individuality."  
>She smiled, and honoured the innocuous stripe with a gentle caress. "I can see how that would appeal to you" she remarked.<br>But he suddenly seemed embarrassed and looked away. "It was a foolish choice. At the time, it was more a sign of protest than a reflection of my character."  
>"The man who set it, did he know you?"<br>"No. At least," he mused, leaning back again with one hand behind his head, letting the other resume its idle caresses, "that's what I thought, but he must have known something, to suggest the alternatives that he did. But I'm not sure. Like I said, we don't talk about it, so I don't really know what is 'normal'."  
>"Is it normal to go alone?"<br>He snorted. "No. It's normal for your father to accompany you. And the annoying thing is, that when he doesn't, that's either a sign of disinterest, or a sign of trust. But I can hardly believe that it was the latter."  
>"What did he say?"<br>"Nothing. Not once. I remember that my mother hugged me and said it looked gorgeous. She kept calling me her little rebel. It might not sound like much to a human, but believe me, she was acknowledging me in a big way." He smiled at the memory. "But my father?" He shrugged.  
>"I used to watch him like a hawk, but I still have no idea."<p>

#

He reached up to caress her cheek in turn.  
>"And this? What does this mean?"<br>Her eyes flicked towards his hand and her head moved, although she could not see the skin he was touching.  
>"The scar?"<br>A gentle pressure from his hand made her turn her head back, and she found herself looking into his eyes, his thumb softly stroking her jawline.  
>"Us. Here."<p>

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks and looked away.  
>"This is not what I was expecting" he said, gently, but he saw her face fall a little nonetheless. He watched her put on a brave smile, but it did not reach her eyes.<br>"What were you expecting?"  
>"Frankly? To be devoured." He growled and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, relieved to feel the momentary tension leave her as she relaxed against his chest. "Or worse."<br>"Worse?" she asked, incredulous.  
>"I was afraid that you were expecting to be devoured."<br>"O? Is that what all your 'research' predicted?"  
>He heard the mischief in her voice, but he answered in earnest.<br>"I didn't... get around to that, to be honest."  
>She lifted her head to look at him, surprised. "You gave me that line so many times that I thought you were going through the whole damned galactic codex."<br>"Yeah. I ah... I guess I was afraid of.. finding out that things would be... complicated."  
>She snorted, "So you put your head in the sand. That's not really like you, Garrus."<br>"I see. And what did you find out?" he asked, pointedly.  
>"Well..." she started as she propped herself up on one elbow, watching her own hands, idly rolling the fabric of his sleeve back and forth between her fingers. "Mordin gave me a lecture. God, that was embarrassing. And terrifying, to tell you the truth. It made me kinda nervous. And then I just left it at that."<br>"Seriously? You asked Mordin?"  
>"No! He just cornered me! I don't know why, and I didn't ask. I just got the hell out of there as fast as I could without insulting him."<br>She let herself fall back onto the pillow next to him and sighed.  
>"Christ Garrus. Why can't anything just be easy, for a change?"<br>They lay silent for a while, her words hanging over them, thick with the threat of reality.

#

The wide and whooping and heavy thump that squashed his nose and cut off his breath caught him completely by surprise, and to close his eyes on time was all he could do. He doubled over and brought up his hands, but before he could manage, the suffocating pillow rose back up into the air and hit him again in the face. As he rolled onto his side, away from his assailant, he heard her low growl punctuating the blows: "It's. All. Your. Fucking. Fault." With one hand protecting his face, he fumbled around behind him for a weapon, but just as he felt his fingertips graze the corner of his own pillow, she snatched it away from him, never missing a beat. He could not help but laugh, feigning helplessness at the onslaught.

"Wait!" he tried, almost out of breath, and was surprised when the hail of blows actually ceased. After a moment he carefully lifted his hand, daring a glimpse backwards. She was sitting on her knees, the fearsome pillow poised above her head, ready to strike again.  
>"Start begging, Turian!" she barked, almost managing to keep a straight face, and his mandibles flared in a wide grin. Slowly, holding up his hands, he unfolded and stretched out on his back.<p>

"Never."

She struck. In a reflex, he brought up both hands, grabbed hold and pulled. A loud tear announced to the room what his hands already knew as he felt the fabric give way. Suddenly, silence reigned. Two unresisting halves of pillow casing were dangling from his talons, and white down was everywhere, dancing on the unseen currents of air. Through the whirl of lazy feathers, he caught her upturned eyebrow. He met her sparkling eyes and finally let his arms fall to the bed in mock surrender.

She looked him over, all Turian dignity, slowly being covered in white fluff.  
>He exhaled sharply and sent a feather flying.<p>

"All right," he admitted, "that was also unexpected."

Laughing, she started to brush off the plumage and he let her, undergoing her ministrations patiently, willingly, still grinning. "I'm trying hard not to imagine that I'm plucking you, Garrus. But your resemblance to an earth chicken is uncanny right now."  
>"Seems I was right then, about being devoured" he mused, capturing a tickling offender off a mandible.<p>

Suddenly still, she put a hand to his face. Her eyes were reflecting more light than they should. "I really want this to work, Garrus. I need you to know that I really want this to work. If we die tomorrow..."  
>"Shhhh... I plan to die of anaphylactic shock, not of Collectors."<br>"Is that a promise?" she whispered, as he gathered her up in his arms once more.  
>"Definitely."<p> 


End file.
